


The Distance Between Stars

by Saffronthread



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Annie the Telemarketer!, Armin the Caffeine Addict!, Black Friday Shopping, Boston, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, Featuring, IKEA, Mikasa the Troll!, Neighbors, Nonbinary Hange Zoë, Walmart, and let's not forget, astronomy fun facts, crashing a wedding you were technically invited to, ugly furniture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2020-01-24
Packaged: 2020-10-26 12:10:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20741990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saffronthread/pseuds/Saffronthread
Summary: Annie gets an obnoxious new neighbor who just moved into the apartment above her own.That she's also infuriatingly attractive is a separate issue.





	1. Nebula

**Author's Note:**

> Interstellar: (adj) Occurring or situated between stars.

Apparently, a quiet evening alone is too much to ask for. 

Annie is setting her table when a series of _ thuds _reverberates through her apartment from the floor above, and she is less than amused when little chunks of plaster from her ceiling crumble into her dinner plate. 

_ Thud. _

More plaster. Right into the lasagna she just spent the better part of an hour making. 

_ Thud. _

And there goes her tea. Awesome. 

“You've gotta be shitting me.” Annie stands from the table and storms through her living area, out the door, and up the stairs to the second level. The new neighbor moved in less than forty-eight hours ago and already Annie can't wait for their lease to expire. 

She pounds on the familiar door of apartment number 204, the one directly above her own, and takes a step back with her arms crossed over her chest. 

A full thirty-two seconds passes - Annie knows, she counted - before the door swings open to reveal a _ beautiful _ dark haired woman in nothing but gym shorts and a workout bra. The fact that her six-pack abs are nothing short of _ chiseled _only makes Annie hyper-aware of her own oversized sweatshirt and faded jeans, which, as a result, annoys her in ways she can’t quite put her finger on. 

“What.” Not a question, just a way to say _ piss off _with one less syllable.

_ Be the bigger person, _ Annie tells herself. _ Just smile and use your telemarketer voice. _“Hi. I’m Annie, your downstairs neighbor. I was wondering if-”

“No thanks.” The woman is halfway to shutting the door on her face before Annie’s reflexes kick in, one hand pressed just above the doorknob. 

Fortunately, or maybe _ unfortunately, _ Annie isn’t easily intimidated. “Excuse me, hi. Yeah, not done yet. So are you throwing bricks in here?” 

The woman cocks a brow and leans against the threshold. “I beg your pardon.” Again, not a question. 

“Bricks? You know the ones - made of clay, used for apartment buildings such as this? Surely you’ve heard of them?”

She narrows her eyes, the rest of her body set in what seems to be a well-trained stillness. “Your point being?” 

Something in Annie’s jaw twitches. “Whatever the hell you’re doing up here is causing my ceiling to fall apart.” 

Just past the raven-haired asshole, there’s a barbell laid out in the middle of an otherwise bare room, with what looks like three forty-pound plates attached to either side. Somehow, this pisses Annie off even more. 

“I’m not at fault if your ceiling is poorly maintained.” 

Annie moves her hand from its spot on the door to point towards the barbell. “So, what? You just pick that shit up and drop it?” 

The corners of the woman’s mouth slip up into a mocking grin. “You’ve figured out how deadlifts work.” And this time, when she slams the door shut, Annie doesn’t catch it. Through the old splintered wood, all she hears is a bitter, “Good for you.” 

~

Annie doesn’t consider herself a petty person, just one with petty tendencies. 

As it is, there’s an air vent in her bedroom that leads up to the identically designed room on the floor above. Annie has grown to hate the damn thing over the years, but really, one can hear anything and everything that happens on the opposite end. So, it has its uses. For better or worse. 

For the next three days, she decides to wake up at four in the morning, which is an adjustment - she doesn’t _ have _to get up until hours later - but luckily for her, she has an obnoxious rooster alarm that blares with the same vigor as a congested baby on an airplane. It’s quite impressive. 

Gee, but wherever should she put her phone to best hear the alarm? Hmm. 

Oh! Right.

On the third morning, Wednesday, at three past four on the dot, a thunderous pounding at her door overwhelms the sound of the rooster. Annie goes to open it with a certain spring in her step that belies her exhaustion. “Yes?”

“Are you shitting me?”

Ah, the sweet smell of well-earned vengeance. 

“Hmm? Whatever do you mean? Is something the matter, neighbor?” Annie forces all the doe-eyed innocence she can muster on her face, which, to be fair, is not a lot. Unsurprisingly, the woman - wearing short pajama shorts, a _ tight _ tank top, and _ no _ bra - falls for none of it. “It’s a little early for you to be banging on my door, don’t you think? Do you have _ any _ idea what _ time _it is?”

If looks could kill, Annie would be dead on the spot. 

“Turn off that damn alarm.” A demand, sure, but it’s more akin to an unspoken threat. “Now.” 

“No thanks,” Annie says in a little sing-song tune, swinging the door closed.

But, of course, the woman catches it before it clicks shut. 

“We’re not done here.” 

“Oh?”

The asshole steps forward once, a mere inch away from the threshold. “Tell me. _ Must _ you make this much noise every day at _ four in the morning?” _She brings both hands to her sides in tight, shaking fists. Looks like someone has an anger problem. 

Perhaps a little extra cheer will help lighten the mood. 

“Ah! You figured out how alarms work!” With a wide smile and bright eyes, Annie slams the door righteously in the woman’s face before calling out a satisfied, “Good for you!” 

~

The next two weeks are a tornado comprised of the same bullshit. 

On Thursday morning, the woman decides to set her own alarm - heavy metal nonsense that sounds more like two trash cans having sex than actual music - at the coincidental time of three-thirty. So. Annie, of course, schedules her rooster to howl off at three. 

Eventually, neither of them are getting any sleep due to the never-ending sound of her rooster screaming along to abismal heavy metal all through the night. 

After the second night without sleep, Annie resigns herself to sleeping on the couch with a pair of earplugs. It doesn’t help one bit.

In the mornings, on Annie’s way to work, the two women never cross paths in the hallway or outside. A small slice of peace. But, in the evenings, when six-thirty rolls around, it appears as if they make a daily habit of running into one another on the building’s front steps. 

The woman’s red scarf, black leggings, and blue sweater-dress - which hugs her prominent curves as though it’s a second layer of skin - piss. Annie. Off. 

Infuriating people should not look good in nice clothes _ and _ gym clothes _ and _pajamas. Pick one. Those are the rules. 

In comparison, Annie’s white button-up shirt, gray fitted vest, and gray work pants make her seem rather… bland. Gray. A rain cloud casting shadows over the ocean. 

Annie reaches the front steps two seconds too late. The woman locks eyes with her, steady and piercing despite the dark circles underneath, and opens the door behind her. She slips through and slams it shut before Annie can even reach for the knob. 

And then there’s the unmistakable click of the upper lock, to which Annie never carries the key for. Because _ no one ever locks the top bolt. _

Annie can feel her nails digging into her palms, the stretch of skin across her knuckles. 

Fine. _ Fine. _Be that way. She’s climbed through her kitchen window before, and she’s not above doing it again. 

This will _not_ be the thing that breaks her. 

The window is off to the side of the building and unlocked, which, upon mild consideration, is highly concerning in and of itself, but that’s not important at the moment. What _ is _important is how, despite being on ground level, Annie is still too short and out of shape to push herself up on the windowsill without dislocating something vital. 

So, of course, as one does, she gets a running start from the next yard over, leaps herself up onto the ledge like an amateur pole vaulter, and very nearly somersaults off her kitchen counter.

So this evening’s going great. 

Ten minutes later, after she successfully breaks back into her apartment (all while running on an empty tank of dignity, for what it’s worth) and changes into a pair of sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt, _ large chunks _of plaster begin hailing down around her joint kitchen and dining area. Annie takes a few steps back from her spot at the refrigerator, tracing along the wall of the apartment. No less than the time it takes to secure herself in a relatively stable corner does a seventy-pound kettlebell burst through her dining table from a new hole in the ceiling.

That right there? _ THAT _ breaks her. 

“What the f-” 

“Shit.” A hushed voice travels down the hole, bits of plaster like a meteor shower overhead. Annie rushes over, only to look up into the startled eyes of the worst neighbor in the world. 

Needless to say, Annie’s at a loss for words. Or, more accurately, she knows _ exactly _ what she _ wants _to say, however, if she were to open her mouth right now, she’s sure to spew out profanities and threats that will certainly land her downtown having a long chat with the Cambridge police. 

“Shit,” the woman says again, as if it’s _ her _apartment that took the brunt of the damage. “I swear that one wasn’t on purpose.” 

_ Breathe in, breathe out. In and out. _Annie says nothing, does nothing, opting to stow away in her room and go to bed early. Not that she gets any sleep. 

That night, neither of them set their alarms. And the quiet is almost haunting. 

~ 

The woman’s name is Mikasa Ackerman. Annie knows because she bombarded their landlord with phone calls every two minutes, starting from six the next morning to six thirty-four. “You sure are fired up today.” 

“Hange.” After relaying the entire story, this is not the desired reaction. “It’s raining plaster in my apartment. There’s a hole above my _ very much broken _ dining table and an irritating draft. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t be _ ‘fired up.’ _” Hange can’t see the exaggerated air quotes, but they most certainly exist. 

A drawn out sigh fills the proceeding silence. “I’ll send Reiner over on Saturday to fix it.” 

“And what of the hole?” Annie isn’t a fan of the way her own voice sounds as though it’s tapping an impatient foot.

“I'll call someone and hopefully it’ll get fixed today. At the very least, it should be good to go by the time Reiner gets there. From the sound of it, all those weights created a lot of weak spots, so we’re going to have to redo large chunks of the ceiling. Luckily, your apartment isn’t that big!”

“You’re not letting her keep the weights, are you?”

There’s a tentative inhale on the other end of the line. “Umm. Well. I was meaning to talk to you about that and this, well, kind of seems like the perfect opportunity. Silver linings!”

“You’re _ not _letting her keep them, right? Please tell me you’re not.” 

“Okay, so, here’s the thing. You're not the only one to complain about the noise. So. Allow me to introduce you to a thought I've been playing around with: what if you two maybe, possibly, potentially swapped apartments?” 

Yeah, no. “Not happening.” 

“Can you at least think about it?”

“No.”

“Not even for a second?”

“No.”

“But you’d get a better view on the second floor! You could see the city from your window!” 

Not true. The only thing visible from that window is a bus stop, a convenience store, and a construction site. Still. “Why would I want a shitty view of a city I don’t even like?” 

Hange lets out one last sigh of defeat, which is usually how their conversations end. “Okay, okay. I’ll call her and work something out. Happy now?” 

No, but she says yes and hangs up anyway. 

By the time Saturday morning rolls around, the floor in Annie’s living area looks as though it’s been dusted with a generous amount of cocaine. Hange’s phone call clearly had no effect, as Mikasa has now taken to jumping jacks, jump rope, and box jumps, all for the sole purpose of being a raging asshole. 

The hole in the ceiling was patched up a couple days ago - Mikasa had to pay for that out of pocket, which was hopefully very expensive - so now all that’s left is to repair the weak spots in order to prevent more damage. 

Reiner lets out a low whistle when he steps foot inside, his utility bag sliding off his shoulder and onto the floor. “Damn.” 

“I know.” 

He gives the room a curious once-over, noting the odd rearrangement in furniture. The broken dining table is now pushed up against the far left wall near the window, while the couch and television set are crammed in the far right corner near the bathroom. It’s as though the floor in the middle of the apartment is expected to tumble into the depths of the Earth. 

“Okay, I have the rest of the stuff in the truck and Bertholdt is on his way. We’ll fix this up for you in no time.” Reiner gives her a smile and a pat on the back before dipping from the apartment, through the lobby, and out the front door of the building. Luckily for him, he found a parking spot right out front. 

Bertholdt shows up, and he and Reiner get all their supplies in tow and cover the floor in layers of old newspapers. “It looks like there are weak patches. In all honesty, you probably should have gotten this fixed years ago, crazy neighbor or no.” Reiner runs a hand through his short, blond hair and slides it down to the back of his neck. “The building’s old, _ and _ you’re on the ground level. It’s a miracle your ceiling lasted as long as it did.” 

“Hmm.” Annie stands in the doorway of her bedroom as they work, sipping at a now lukewarm mug of coffee that she made earlier in the morning. “I’ll make a new pot of coffee, if you guys want some.” 

The two look at each other, as if they have no other choice but to have the same answer, and Bertholdt nods. “Sure, that’d be great.” 

Rolling her eyes, Annie retreats back into her room where she temporarily relocated her coffee maker, grounds, filters, and a gallon of water from the kitchen counter to her desk. Mikasa can ruin her carpet, and she can even ruin her food, but some things are sacred. 

When she brings out two mugs of coffee, Reiner and Bertholdt are smoothing out patches of the ceiling with a trowel, with Reiner on top of a ladder and Bertholdt keeping it steady. “So,” she ventures. “How long do you think this will take?” 

Reiner shrugs. “Ehh, maybe six to eight hours. The ceiling isn't that big.” He steps down from the ladder, wiping his hands on a towel around his waist, and they both accept the offered coffee. Bertholdt gives Reiner a look, nervous and seeking permission, and Reiner waves him off. “So, Annie.” 

“Yes?” 

“Well,” he rubs the back of his neck again. “You remember Hitch, right?” 

Oh. “Obviously… Guys, what is this about?” 

Bertholdt picks up where Reiner falters. “Well, you see. Hitch, she… is engaged. To Marlo? He used to live on the third floor?”

She remembers, and the entire weight of Mikasa’s kettlebell settles on Annie’s chest, a raw hollowness swirling at the base of her stomach. “Oh. Him. Right.” 

Reiner coughs, covering his mouth with a loose fist. “Yeah, I guess they’re looking into buying a house out west. California, I think. They want to move somewhere warm after the wedding. You know Hitch. She’s always been weak to the cold.”

Annie knows that better than anyone. “I see. That’s… that’s nice,” she said, not looking either of them in the eye. “I’m happy for her.” 

“So, the thing is,” Bertholdt starts, because of course there’s more. “She wasn’t sure whether or not to send you an invitation. I told her I’d ask?” He delivers the statement as a question, probably to avoid tackling the elephant in the room. _ Do you want to go? Are you okay with seeing her again? It has been two years, after all. _

“I mean. I wouldn’t mind.” Her fingers start wearing at the hem of her sleeve. “When is it?” 

Reiner taps the carpet with the toe of his boot. “Ahh… it’s, well. In three weeks.” 

“Oh.” 

“And Bert and I… we each get a plus one, so… you know. We wanted to ask you first.” 

A hard lump forms in her throat. “I- No, it’s okay.”

“Are you sure?”

No. “Yeah. It’s fine.” 

Bertholdt loops his hands in loose circles, a nervous trait he picked up from his Italian mother. “Sorry about this. We didn’t want to just spring this on you, but we also didn’t want to not-”

“No, no. I understand.”

Neither Reiner or Bertholdt look convinced, but then again, Annie doesn’t expect them to believe her. “You’re really sure?”

A twitch under one eye, a hard set to her jaw. “Yeah.” 

“Annie-”

“It’s fine.” A lie. “I’m fine.” And another. 

They look to each other once more, a cocked brow here and a shrug over there, tell-tale signs of defeat, or surrender, or _ we've done our job and don't want to deal with this anymore. _ Or maybe something like pity, which is by far the worst. “Okay,” Reiner says. “But you can always change your mind. If you want.” 

Annie nods, afraid of what might come up if she opens her mouth again, and turns back into her bedroom where she stays until long after the sun sets.

~

Stars don’t shine as bright in the city as they do in the countryside where Annie was raised. She thinks about that sometimes - how city lights erase the very thing they imitate. How she gave up something real for something artificial when she moved. 

Reiner and Bertholdt left a few hours ago, waving a muted goodbye on their way out. They mean well, she knows that. But a part of her wishes they never said anything to begin with, that they left her ignorance in tact. She hasn’t thought of Hitch in months, but now it all comes flooding back. 

_ “I never meant for it to be like this. You know that, right? You understand?” _ She had never seen Hitch look so nervous before. So unsure of herself. _ “I’m really, really sorry, you have no idea. I hurt you, I know that. But we can move past this, right? We can go back to being friends again somewhere down the line? Right? …Annie?” _

Pulling on a hoodie, Annie pockets her wallet and keys and makes her way out of the apartment and into the cool night air. Down the street is a twenty-four hour convenience store, the buzz from its open sign flickering unevenly with that of the lights. Inside, the middle-aged man at the counter leans back in a fold-out chair with the day’s newspaper in hand, an open beer bottle next to the register. He doesn’t acknowledge her when she walks in, never does. 

Annie wanders through the aisles, inspecting snacks and boxes of teas, weighing the decision of whether she wants them, or if she simply wants to buy something for the sake of feeling productive. Either is fine. 

Down in the way back of the store, dead center in the dairy aisle, is an annoying head of dark hair, with infuriatingly toned arms to boot. Mikasa seems to be caught up in the nutritional difference between whole milk and two percent, a gallon of each in her hands.

Before Annie can slip back into the aisle without being seen, Mikasa turns her head. For an awkwardly dragged out moment, she says nothing. Just lowers the milk gallons to her sides. “You complained to Hange.” And got her precious barbell temporarily banned. 

_ Who wouldn’t? _ Is what she wants to say. Instead, Annie shrugs, shoving her hands in the front pocket of her hoodie. “Could’ve been anyone.” 

“No. It was you.” The way Mikasa holds her stare without blinking doesn’t yield the desired effect. Annie isn’t about to look away. 

Instead, she twists the fabric inside her pocket until her knuckles are sore. “So what if it was? You tore a _hole _through my _ceiling. _Can you blame me?”

She arches an eyebrow, but doesn’t look all that angry, which is odd. Since the get-go, Annie has been anticipating a war, but now all she’s getting is indifference. “Calling the landlord on me after only a few weeks. You’re cold.” 

That final word is salt on a freshly reopened wound. “Yeah. You’re not the first person to call me that. Sorry to disappoint.” 

“I never said it was a bad thing.” Mikasa shrugs, milk sloshing around inside the two plastic gallons. 

The bell at the front door rings, a man with a booming voice buying scratch tickets. Neither women shift their gaze. Annie can feel the flatness in her tone before she speaks. “I see.” 

Mikasa opens her mouth, closes it, then opens it again. Like she wants to say something she shouldn’t. Instead, her expression hardens into something stubborn and unyielding. “Sorry about the other night, by the way,” she says through grit teeth. “Putting a hole through your ceiling, I mean. It was a bad day, I kinda just tossed it and didn’t think.” Despite the unmistakable reluctance, there’s a kernel of genuine remorse there, which throws Annie through a loop, her expression like that of a deer in headlights. “I’ll buy you a new table.” 

Exhaling, Annie taps at the tiled floor with the toe of her boot. “You will. And please try to refrain from potentially dropping nearly a hundred pounds through my skull on ‘bad days.’ …You’d have to clean out all the blood from the carpet and hide the body before someone starts snooping around.” Apparently, Mikasa doesn’t think Annie is all that funny. To be fair, no one does. 

Nonetheless, the tension doesn’t feel as thick anymore, and Annie briefly wonders if she wants to ruin the partially patched bridge between them. But then again, it’s not like she really has anything to lose, and Mikasa _ is _an asshole, so it’s not like there’s any reason to be civil. “So. What do you plan to do in regards to jumping around like a crackhead rabbit?” 

Mikasa runs her tongue over her top teeth, contemplative. “Nothing. Yet.” 

How lovely. “I see. Well, good luck with that. I’m sure you’ll receive another call from Hange soon.” Annie turns, deciding that she doesn’t want to buy anything after all, but then pauses. “Whole milk lasts longer, by the way.” 

“I know that.” 

“Well, you were glaring pretty hard at those labels, so.” 

“Protein.” 

“Ah.” So she’s one of _ those. _ Figures. “Gotcha.” 

“You know,” Mikasa says as she turns back to inspect her milk with the utmost care. “You could probably use some more protein in your diet. From the looks of it, I wouldn’t be surprised if the wind swept you away.”

Surprisingly, Annie chuckles at that before she really has the chance to stop herself. “You sound like my dad.” 

“He must be a smart guy, then. You should listen to him.” She decides on the whole milk and shoves the two percent back into the refrigerator. “Maybe then you’ll be able to tough out a little noise and some plaster.” 

_ A little noise. _That’s one way to put it. “I don’t think having the muscle mass of a professional wrestler will solve those problems.” 

Mikasa moves to the aisle Annie is standing at the mouth of, stopping mere inches away. She’s about a head taller and clearly enjoys the simple pleasure of looking down her nose. Annie chooses not to notice the glaring intensity in her eyes, or the way her hair flows down her broad shoulders like running water, or how she smells like she uses coconut scented _ everything. _ She especially ignores the gentle curve of her lip, how it slips up into a playful smile Annie won’t soon forget. 

“We’ll see,” Mikasa says, a hunter accepting a challenge. 

And all at once, Annie has the strong urge to flee. Partially because she wants to get back to the building before Mikasa does to avoid awkwardly walking home together, but also because of the microscopic part of her that’s pestering her to stay. 

She gives a curt nod and veers out of the aisle, tuning out the parts of her she doesn’t understand, and walks back out into the night towards her newly plastered apartment. 

~

Apparently, “we’ll see” actually translates to “heavy metal music cranked up to eleven,” which complements the “high-intensity jumping-squat regimen.” The fixed ceiling lives up to Reiner and Bertholdt’s upstanding reputation, but somehow the noise is even more annoying.

Just before she leaves for work the following Tuesday, Annie finds a handwritten note taped to her door. 

_ Bet you wish you ate more protein now. _

Cute, but Annie’s fancy is in no way tickled. At least, that’s what she tells herself. The dumb grin on her face says otherwise, which is problematic on so many levels. Luckily, she’s a self-proclaimed problem-solver. 

Hange answers on the third try this time. “Sup?”

“How do the other tenants not complain?” 

“Good afternoon to you, too, Annie! As much as I adore chatting, shouldn’t you be at work right now, instead of on your phone?” 

Annie tightens her grip on her pencil. “For the hundredth time, I’m a telemarketer. And, for the record, I’m on break.” 

A chuckle that’s a little _ too _ enthusiastic rings on the other end. “I know. I just like making you say it.” Sometimes, much like right now, Hange makes Annie want to lay her head down flat underneath Mikasa’s kettlebell. When she doesn’t answer, Hange continues. “Yeah, yeah, fine. Other tenants complain. You can imagine the calls I get on a daily basis from Moblit. Though, he’s two floors above, so you’re definitely getting the brunt of the noise.” 

“Can’t you come by and talk to her? Was she even allowed to have _powerlifting_ equipment in the building to begin with?” 

“Well… I never said she could have them, but I also never said she _couldn't__, _ so…”

“Seriously? Are you aware that you’re the landlord here?” 

“More than you might think.” Exhaustion creeps into Hange’s tone via a short sigh and Annie almost feels bad. 

Almost.

“Just tell her to get a gym membership. Everyone wins.” Except Mikasa, which is fine by Annie and, apparently, Moblit. 

“I can’t just _ do _that, she’s my friend’s cousin! She’d rat me out to him and he’d stomp on over here to tear me a new asshole!” 

_ Serves you right, _ is what Annie wants to say, but ends up with a disinterested, “I see,” instead. “And who’s this friend of yours?” 

“Ah, you’ve met him! Remember Levi? From the Christmas party last year? The little guy with all the frown lines?” 

Ugh, of course. “You mean the lawyer?” 

She can practically hear Hange nodding from the other end of the line. “The very one! You have a good memory! Yeah, so, he’s, um, how do I put this? _ Aggressive _ when it comes to the law. And the Massachusetts courts favor tenants over landlords as it is, so. You know.”

“Hange,” she says with all the exhaustion of a telemarketer on a Tuesday afternoon. “Don’t make shit up. Just say you don’t want to piss off your grumpy secret boyfriend.” 

“Well, that too.” 

One day, Annie is going to kick all of them in the teeth. Maybe she _ should _ stock up on protein after all. “Yeah, I get it. Fine.” She pinches the bridge of her nose and exhales, checking the clock. Ten past two. “Listen, I gotta get back to work. I’ll call you later.” 

“You got it!” Relief settles in Hange’s voice. “Have fun selling… what is it again? Car insurance? Key chains? Fanny packs?” 

“Telescopes.” 

“Right, right. Stars and stuff, very cool. Good luck!” 

Annie hangs up the phone and rubs her temples, an irritated pulse acting up somewhere along the edge of her hairline. 

In all honesty, Annie isn’t entirely sure why Mikasa bothers her this much. In the three years of her living in that apartment, plenty of obnoxious neighbors have come and gone, and none of them got under her skin the way this one does. Sure, the plaster thing was a major pain in the ass, but - and she HATES admitting to this - Mikasa wasn’t entirely wrong when she said it was poorly maintained. When was the last time anyone replastered the ceiling? 

Never, that’s when. 

And it’s not like Annie is usually bothered by noise. There have certainly been worse over the years. College kids, dog owners, couples with unreasonable sex lives - Annie has heard it all. 

Truth be told, it’s the silence that makes her skin crawl. So Annie shouldn’t even be giving Mikasa a second thought. 

But she consistently finds herself sparing the woman _ many _ thoughts, because Mikasa is, for one reason or another, unquestionably annoying. A terrible neighbor, through and through. Sarcastic, rude, ridiculously toned, prettier than anyone has any right being - she might actually be the devil. 

Obviously. 

“Annie?” A deep voice cuts across her cubicle, startling her out of her thoughts. “Everything okay in here? You look a little pale.” Erwin, her boss, looms over her desk, casting almost everything on it in his shadow. His eyebrows raise in concern when he sees her.

“Yeah, thanks. Sorry about that, I’m fine,” she assures him, leaning back in her chair and taking a sip from her half empty water bottle. It takes everything in her to not openly stare at his dog-patterned tie. A dozen little golden retrievers with their tongues sticking out. “Probably just a little dehydrated.” 

He hums, giving her an obvious once-over, but seems to let it go. “All right. Let me know if you need anything.” He moves onto the next cubicle, checking in on Rico, who, in every regard, is too overqualified to work here. 

Annie scans her eyes down to the next name and number on her list, the distinct sense of impending doom pouring down on her. 

_ Ackerman, Mikasa. _

Somewhere in the universe, God is laughing at her.

The thought occurs to her to pass this particular contact off to Rico, but then Annie remembers that she is twenty-five years old, not fifteen. 

With any luck, Mikasa won’t answer. With all the noise she makes, how can she possibly hear her phone anyway? 

The dial rings once, twice, three times. And then Annie’s heart both rises and sinks in the span of a second. “Hello?” 

_ Shit. _

Here goes nothing. “Um, good afternoon. I’m a representative of Astraea Scope. I was wondering if you would be interested in-”

“Wait a minute… Annie?” The upturn in Mikasa’s voice - like she just caught her in the midst of a scandal - does nothing for Annie’s nerves. “From upstairs? That’s your name, right?” 

She sighs, switching off her higher-pitched customer service persona. “And here I thought I could sell you an overpriced telescope unnoticed.”

Mikasa snorts. “You would need to be charming to get through to my wallet. _ Anyone’s _wallet, actually. I imagine you don’t make many sales.” 

“You’d be surprised,” she says, pressing the phone closer in her ear. “I used to be employee of the month, you know. Every month.” Until Rico showed up, which is irrelevant. Why she’s bringing this up at all, she has no idea. 

Mikasa gives a short _ tsk. _ “Used to be. So what happened? A piece of ceiling fall on your head?”

“Something like that.” 

An awkward silence drags its feet between them, the buzz of people in the background acting as the only indicator that neither has hung up yet. From the sound of it, Mikasa is on a bus or a train. 

“So,” Mikasa starts, and the break in silence is jarring. “What are you selling again?”

“Telescopes. For stargazing.” They’re overpriced, but she’d be lying if she claims the view isn’t worth it. 

“Huh.” The click of her tongue is audible over the line, like a light switch. “You know, for some reason, that doesn’t surprise me all that much,” she says, her tone even. 

“Oh? And why is that?”

“Because.” A pause. Annie holds tight to her breath, keeps it at bay. She can practically hear the wheels turning in Mikasa’s head. “Because maybe you can’t get over what’s going on above you… Given our brief history, I would know.”

Annie exhales something like relief, light and airy in her chest. Something that has no right being there. “Heh, you got me.” 

“Good.” There’s that upwards shift in her voice again, a sound akin to satisfaction. “So. What’s your pitch?” In the background, Annie can hear the train’s intercom - _ Next Stop: Kendall MIT. _

“My what?”

“Your pitch. For the telescope. Don’t tell me you don’t have a pitch.”

She really hopes Rico can’t hear the smile in her tone from the next cubicle over. “Of course I have a pitch.” 

“Then let’s hear it. Set my heart on that telescope, Miss. Former-Employee-of-the-Month. Maybe, if you’re lucky, I’ll consider buying it.”

Annie _ does _ work on commission, which is the exact reason she gives herself to further indulge in this conversation. “All right, then. Mikasa, let me tell you exactly why you need this telescope. By any chance, are you aware that the lifespan of a star is about ten billion years?”

“I did not know that, no.” 

“Well, it’s true. That means, definitively, that the stars you look up to night after night are the same ones that have lived throughout _ all _of human history. They’ve seen everything we’ve done - every victory and defeat, every trial and tribulation, every joy and sorrow - and they remember all of it. Your parents and your parents’ parents and so on and so forth all sat under the same sky. And your children and your children’s children will likely do the same. But it’s not just family, you know? It’s everyone. Those are the same stars the ancient Greeks and Romans wrote about, it’s where they found heroes and gods through the constellations. They’re the same stars the Vikings used to navigate through the sea for hundreds of years, and why? Because the stars are faithful. You can trust them. Humans have always looked to them for guidance - past, present, and future. But you and I? Well. We live in a city. When we look out our bedroom windows, we can only see a handful of stars and a whole lot of street lights. I don’t know about you, but I feel robbed of the very thing that’s been passed down to us since the dawn of our existence. After everything that’s happened, don’t you want to see what all the fuss is about with your own two eyes? Before time passes you by?” 

_ Next Stop: Charles MGH. _

Mikasa is silent for a moment, which is good because Annie needs to catch her breath. That speech usually works on elderly people with a strong sense of nostalgia, but millennials are a hit or miss. 

“I see,” she finally says. “That’s a pretty speech, I like it.”

Annie shakes her head as though Mikasa is there to see it. “Do you have goosebumps at least?”

“Not telling.” 

“Damn. Tough crowd.” 

“I’ve been called worse.” A short pause, but it feels stretched. “So how much?”

“Hm?” 

“For the telescope. What price tag does one place on - what did you call it? - that which has been passed down to humanity since the dawn of time?” 

“Ah, that. Well, that’s ninety-nine dollars and ninety-eight cents. Plus tax.” 

“You can’t just say a hundred?” 

“Consider it a discount. My treat.”

A genuine laugh fills the silence, the sound of a flute in an empty theatre. “How generous of you. Do you give all your customers the royal treatment?” 

“Only the ones who stay on the phone, which, to be fair, is not a lot. You should feel special.” 

“Believe me, I do.” Which doesn’t sound entirely disingenuous. “So, if I only workout in the mornings after you’ve left for work, what kind of discount will that get me?” 

Hesitation be damned, Annie doesn’t even need a fraction of a second to consider the offer. “I will personally set your telescope up for you on the roof, _ and, _ as an added bonus, I’ll find whichever star you want.” 

“Whenever I want?”

“But of course,” she answers, all while ignoring the giddy bounce in her leg. “What are neighbors for?” 

“Well then, in that case, I believe we have ourselves a deal.” _ Next Stop: Park Street. _

The monotone readings of the train stops in the background finally breaks Annie’s curiosity. “Where are you going, by the way? Who takes the red line at two-thirty in the afternoon?” 

“I’m an after school teacher in Quincy,” she responds as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Gotta pay for that telescope somehow. How else am I supposed to drag you to the roof at ungodly hours just to find whatever stars happen to pique my interest?”

For whatever reason, the idea doesn’t sound terrible. Not that Annie is _ ever _going to admit to it. “You got me again.”

“So. How am I supposed to pay for this thing?” 

And just like that, somewhere during the remainder of their transaction, Annie begrudgingly admits that Mikasa Ackerman might not be so bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shout out to NightingalesCalling for editing this! (you turned this Chaotic Trash into Lawful Trash and I cannot thank you enough)
> 
> here's my [tumblr](https://saffronthread.tumblr.com/) if you wanna get on my case for Annie's corny monologue


	2. Protostar

Every year after Thanksgiving, Hange invites the building residents to a rooftop party. On paper, the gathering is a “building relationships with all the neighbors” type of event. In reality, it’s just a way to help people who partake in Black Friday to stay awake. 

This year, Annie has her eye on a fancy new slow cooker. 

The night is crisp, a certain hush that only comes after a full day of eating. Wind sweeps gently in every which direction, uncertain where to go. Above their heads, blanketing the inky black sky, clouds are flushed pink and ready to burst with the first snowfall of the season. Large metal dispensers of coffee and hot chocolate line the foldout table near the door to the staircase, which is exactly where Annie situates herself. Steam from her hot chocolate wafts up from her paper cup and warms her cheeks against the midnight chill.

Hange is overlooking the city lights with their not-so-secret boyfriend, Levi. Since as long as Annie has known them, they’ve always stood _ too _ close to each other, hands just barely touching in a way that’s almost unnatural. 

Moblit, who lives on the fourth and top floor, is curled up in a bean bag chair with a paperback mystery novel in hand. He seems calm, but that’s probably because Hange is otherwise occupied and Mikasa is nowhere in sight. 

On the opposite side of the roof, seated cross-legged on a picnic blanket with five empty coffee cups strewn about, is Armin, his face mere inches away from the glowing screen of his laptop. He lives in the apartment across the hall from Annie’s and she’s never once seen him when he’s not working on school assignments. Being a PhD student at MIT must be stressful, but Armin goes the extra mile to make it look easy. Almost fun.

That he only sleeps in twenty-minute bursts is a topic he religiously avoids. 

Annie moves to sit down with him on the blanket. He nods at her arrival, but doesn’t look up from the screen, one finger tapping the down-arrow key at a steady pace. “You’re gonna hurt your eyes like that, kid. And you’ll probably develop neck problems, fair warning.” 

“Pfft,” he rolls his eyes. “You should really hang out with my grandfather, he’d love you. You could both grumble over ‘kids these days on their damn phones.’” 

“Maybe I should.” Something about Armin’s smile is infectious, his presence overwhelmingly calm. As if everything will be okay as long as he’s around. “So, which scientific breakthroughs are you tinkering with now?” 

Pushing his dark framed glasses up the bridge of his nose, he stops scrolling through a page littered with charts and intricately labeled diagrams. “Taking a break from the ol’ dissertation to read up on some fascinating research on algorithms that could _ potentially _capture images of two neutron stars at the point of collision.” After three years of knowing him, Annie can proudly say that she understands what that means in full. 

“Nice.” She takes a long sip of her hot chocolate and looks up at the clouds. Not a star in sight. 

“Heard you have a new friend.”

Annie’s quick to snap her head back at him, noting the small smirk settling in the corners of his mouth. “She’s not my friend.” Or is she? Does selling a telescope to someone who doesn’t completely suck justify a friendship label? They have been talking more since then… but _ friend _ is such a strong word. “At least… I don’t think she’s my friend?” 

Armin shrugs, which is his way of feigning disinterest in a topic he’s _ very much _interested in. “That’s not what Hange says.” 

“I’ve never known you to take Hange’s word at face value.” 

“And I’ve never known you to make daily noise complaints. I was under the assumption that was Moblit’s job.” He raises an eyebrow at his laptop, but she knows it’s meant for her. “And then, out of nowhere, radio silence from you? The same noise is still present, but now you’re suddenly unfazed? Hmm. Interesting.” 

“You know,” Annie sighs, leaning back on her elbows. “I’m starting to think you’re a little _ too _observant.” 

Armin chuckles, light and airy, finally turning his face away from the screen to face her. “As crazy as it sounds, people and physics aren’t all that different. Both have patterns and rules that can be tracked and tested - ‘tinkered with,’ as you put it. And when those factors change, it’s for a reason.” He waves a hand as if to brush aside what he just said. “Newton’s first law of motion, all that jazz.” 

It’s annoying when he uses science to make sense of people. Specifically her. “Tch.” She takes a gulp of her drink and finishes off the cup. 

“So,” Armin continues, feeling around the blanket for his coffee only to find that he drank it all. “I saw Reiner the other day. He and Bertholdt were leaving your apartment.”

Suddenly her hot chocolate leaves a bitter taste in her mouth. “Yeah, they came to re-plaster my ceiling.” Part of her wants to ask him about the wedding. The other part doesn’t want to remember that the wedding exists at all. 

“Are you going to go with them to the wedding?” Leave it to Armin to get straight to the point. 

“You know, it wouldn’t kill you to beat around the bush a little,” Annie sighs, massaging her temples. Reiner and Bertholdt’s offer is never far from her mind, so needless to say she’s put a lot of thought into the matter. “And no. I wasn’t invited, so I doubt… I doubt she wants me there.” 

“Good,” he says, turning back to the screen but clearly not focusing on anything in particular. “Now I can throw my invitation in the recycling. It’s taking up too much space on my fridge.” 

“You’re not going?” Surprise overtakes her, and she stares at him as he tries to ignore the prickly feeling of being watched. He has always hated being the center of attention. “I thought you and Hitch were close? You used to study in her apartment all the time.” Back before Marlo moved in on the third floor, when Hitch lived in the apartment Mikasa now occupies. 

“Of course I’m not going,” he takes a deep breath and looks her dead in the eyes, resolve unwavering. “Break ups, if you’ll recall, are all about picking sides - or at least they _ should _be. And I think I’ve made it abundantly clear that I’m Team Annie all the way.”

“Armin,” Annie says, a reluctant smile spreading from ear to ear. “What break ups are you basing your logic on?” As far as she knows, he’s never had a relationship that lasted longer than a month. 

“Hey, hey, no fair. Remember when you and I dated for, like, two weeks? That counts as a break up. And even _ then _I was still on your side.” 

It’s times like this when Annie wishes she fell for him during those two weeks. But then she remembers the fact that Armin has a pet tarantula and thinks better of it. 

“You should probably take your own side from time to time. Gain some perspective, build character. ‘All that jazz,’” she mimics, air quotes included. 

“Where’s the fun in that? Besides.” He looks around the blanket again, the realization that he’s all out of coffee resurfacing for round two. From the light of his screen, she can see the dark circles under his eyes. “I like to think I made the right choice.” 

“Oh?”

He gives her a light flick to the forehead. “I still have you, don’t I?”

All the warmth from her hot chocolate catches up to her at once, spreading from her stomach to her chest to her cheeks. “Yeah,” she says, rubbing the spot on her forehead. “We still have each other.” 

“Good. As it should be.” He turns back to his laptop, scrolling through research articles once more in the comfortable silence. On the other side of the roof, Moblit has sunk deeper into the bean bag chair, his entire focus wrapped around his book. Meanwhile, Hange and Levi are speaking in hushed tones, their shoulders pressed against each other as they lean on the railing. 

There’s a slivered break in the clouds, a black velvet ribbon snaking in the sky like a road leading to nowhere. 

The wedding is in a little under a week, and every night Annie wars with herself on whether or not she wants to go. To see Hitch again. To maybe gain some closure. 

To prove she’s not so easily broken. 

_ “I hurt you, I know that. But we can move past this, right? We can go back to being friends again down the line? Right? …Annie?” _

At the time, Annie hadn’t given much thought to what she was agreeing to. She just needed to rebuild her walls, to shut out what no longer belonged inside. _ “You didn’t hurt me. What’s done is done.” _

_ “But-” _

_ “Just leave. Now.” _

And she did, without so much as a backwards glance. Annie broke down in the shower that night when she thought no one could hear her. But Armin did. And he spent the following weeks and months helping Annie piece herself back together again. 

The only other time she saw Hitch after that was in the hallway on the day she moved out. With Marlo. Annie had acted as though she didn’t see them rip their hands apart the second she came into view, but they all knew otherwise. 

And now, after all that, why should she go to their wedding? Why is she even entertaining the idea? Her jaw twitches at the thought of Reiner and Bertholdt thinking it a good idea to invite her. 

Armin looks up from his laptop once more when the rooftop door clicks open and shut. Mikasa makes her way to the refreshments table, clad in a tight black dress that settles a couple inches above her knees, a pair of sheer black nylons, black heels that give her an extra three inches in height, and the red scarf she apparently never takes off. 

Her red lipstick is a real punch in the gut.

Armin lets out a low whistle. “So that’s what she looks like.” From the corner of her eye, Annie can see the gears turning in his head - a new coffee delivery source has presented itself. 

And it isn’t Mikasa. 

“Why don’t you go say hi to your new friend?” He gives Annie a light shove with his elbow, not taking his eyes off the woman standing dangerously close to the coffee dispensers. “And bring me some coffee on your way back. Maybe two cups. A splash of cream, no sugar, pretty please and thank you very much.” 

“Wouldn’t that be your sixth and seventh cup respectively? You’re going to develop heart problems.”

His gaze shifts and he searches her face, eyes wide and voice low. “…Grandpa? Is that you?” 

“Oh, shut up. I’ll get your precious caffeine,” she says, knuckling his hair as she rises. “Addict.” 

“Thank yoooou_._” 

Mikasa nods at Annie’s approach, a cinnamon powdered doughnut dangling from her mouth as she poured herself a cup of hot chocolate. “Hey,” Annie says, allowing three feet of space to hang between them. 

Mikasa bites down on the doughnut, placing the remainder down on a napkin. “Hey yourself.” A splotch of cinnamon sugar clings to the edge of her chin, which is hilarious, so Annie doesn’t point it out. 

They have seen each other quite a few times since their phone conversation a couple weeks prior. After work each day, they’ve exchanged brief, but friendly pleasantries:

_ “This rain’s a bitch.” _

_ “You’re a bitch.” _

_ “Exactly, that’s why it only rains when I don’t have an umbrella. Like calls to like.” _

_ “And maybe thunder is just the sound of God laughing at you.” _

_ “You know,” Annie said, looking Mikasa square in the eye. “Lately I’ve been thinking the same thing.” _

Then, two nights ago, after running into each other at the convenience store, they witnessed a minor car accident in the parking lot and narrated the scene as though it were a high-profile sporting event. 

_ “Are you blind? That guy was parked! He’s clearly not at fault!” _

_ “Yeah, but he was also taking up two spaces. TWO. Feast your eyes on divine retribution, Annie. It only comes around once every millenia or so.” _

After shamelessly watching the two car owners argue and exchange information with impressive reluctance, Annie and Mikasa walked back to the apartment building together without a single trace of their initial awkwardness. 

The last time they saw each other was earlier this morning, just before Mikasa left to go to her parents’ house in Concord for the holiday.

_ “I’d honestly rather skip Thanksgiving altogether. I don’t even like turkey.” _

_ “Turkeys don’t like you, either.” _

_ “Good,” Mikasa muttered with crossed arms, as if shielding herself from the mere concept of poultry. “They’d better not.” _

Annie had stayed home with a store-bought rotisserie chicken and her homemade pumpkin pie, ignoring the voicemails she received from her father throughout the day. Eventually, she turned her phone off and abandoned it on her bedside table. 

After spending a majority of the day marathoning 80’s horror movies in her living room, she had subjected herself to running errands for Hange. There were some loose ends that needed tying for the rooftop party a mere few hours later and Annie was the only one free. 

There’s still three-quarters of a pie left in her refrigerator. She saved it for no one in particular. 

Annie looks from Mikasa to her doughnut and decides on snagging a Boston cream for herself. “I didn’t take you for the Black Friday type.” 

“I’m not, I only came up for the free food.” One corner of her mouth tugs up ever so slightly. “But I could say the same about you. You don’t seem like the type to haul ass for a discounted appliance.”

“Believe me, I’d rather be asleep right now.”

Mikasa snorts. “With an alarm like yours, I find that hard to believe.”

“Pfft. You should probably invest in a mirror, because last I checked, yours is far worse than mine. I hear everything’s half off at Walmart, perhaps you should join me.” _ Shit, _ that sounds eerily like an invitation. Annie’s not trying to _ invite _her not-entirely-awful neighbor on a late night shopping spree. 

…Right? 

“Walmart is the spawn of the devil.” Or she can interpret it that way, sure. That’s fine. “Why would you ever step foot in there?” 

“I want a slow cooker. And I’m not above clawing my way through a crowd of highly caffeinated zombies to get it at a fraction of the cost.” Speaking of caffeinated zombies… “Hold on, I’ve gotta refuel my friend before he blows a fuse. Be right back.” 

Annie pours two cups of coffee - a splash of cream, no sugar - and brings them over to Armin, who totally wasn’t eavesdropping just now. “Real smooth, Annie.” 

Retracting the coffee cups so they’re out of his reach is quite possibly the meanest thing she’s done all year. “I see you don’t need these, what with all that energy you’ve got there.” 

Armin - with blank, soulless eyes - reaches into the pocket of his jeans and pulls out an atom keychain with three dangling keys attached. He twirls out the key to his grandfather’s old station wagon and, without hesitation, offers it to her. “Hand over the coffee and you can take my baby to the devil’s spawn.”

Well, how can she refuse her dear friend in his hour of need? 

When Annie returns holding the car keys of a man who currently seems to be praying into the steam rising from his paper cup, Mikasa stares at her with a cocked brow and something like intrigue on her face. “What exactly did you put in his drink to swindle him out of his whole damn car?” 

“Trust me, that guy would sell his liver for a single shot of espresso.” 

Tension weighs heavy in Annie’s chest, unknowing of how to proceed. Should she ask Mikasa to tag along? Since she already kind of did? Or should she leave it open-ended, and dump the decision-making burden on Mikasa? 

Hey, Mikasa likes heavy weights, right? Surely she’s tough enough to handle this load.

“I’m heading out,” Annie says in an attempt to sound casual. In reality, she sounds anything but. “So, um. I-” 

“I guess I could use a few things for the apartment,” Mikasa mercifully interjects before Annie has the chance to speak out of her ass. “New place and all. I didn’t get to keep a lot of furniture from my last apartment.” She pushes strands of hair behind her ear, not making eye contact with the short blonde in front of her, but rather looking up towards that break in the clouds. “Plus, you’ve bullied some poor kid out of his car. We might as well make the most of it.” 

For the first time in a long time, Annie’s heart skips a beat. 

Within a half hour, they are both staked out in a Walmart parking lot after having just stolen the last spot from a very bitter college student. Third row from the front of the building - not bad for someone who drove at the _legal speed limit_ and did not take Mikasa’s_ shitty _advice to_ “floor it, bitch.” _

“This is, quite possibly, the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever done,” Mikasa says, keeping a firm gaze on the growing line outside the store’s front door. The cinnamon sugar is still hogging up real estate on her chin and Annie is delighted. 

“Need I remind you that you dropped a kettlebell through my ceiling?” 

“By _ accident. _What we’re doing now is premeditated.” 

“You know we’re not here to commit murder, right?” 

Mikasa waves her hand absentmindedly. “Gross glorification of capitalism is murder to the soul.” 

“…Oh, okay.” 

The lines are long, wrapping around the side of the building, with people camping out in sleeping bags and tents, gathered in groups and sharing blankets and coffee thermoses. Most of them are probably here to make large purchases - television sets, game consoles, appliances, furniture, things they can’t afford any other time of year. 

Annie’s not concerned about the slow cookers going out of stock this early in the night, and Mikasa doesn’t have anything particularly popular on her short list of things she wants for her apartment - a pull up bar, a cast iron skillet, a new dishware set, a teapot, new bed sheets, a yoga mat, and the mirror. 

So, actually, she needs to buy a lot, and will be murdering her own soul for a reasonable price tonight. 

Annie is staring deeply into the steering wheel, imagining Mikasa doing yoga - very innocently, of course - when the countdown begins. 

“They’re going to open the doors in five minutes,” Mikasa says, pointing to the time on her phone screen with a manicured nail. Five minutes to two. “This is no time for you to space out.” 

“Ah, yes. How could I be so gosh darn silly.” Annie rubs her eyes and drags herself back to reality, though the mental image of Mikasa in yoga pants lingers like a pesky stab wound. “Do you want to get in line?” 

Mikasa shakes her head and slips her phone back into the pocket of the black jeans she changed into before they left, intentional rips starting at her knees and trailing up to chaotic heights on her thighs. 

Not that Annie has been paying attention, or anything. 

“No way. We can’t get in line now, we’ll get trampled. I’d rather be the one doing the trampling.” Mikasa is a little _ too _impatient for someone who equates Walmart with the literal devil. 

“Then what do you suggest we do?” 

“Simple. Wait here until seconds before the doors open, then charge forward and plow through anyone in our way.” 

_ Simple. _Her tactics are almost admirable, if not a little militaristic. “Aren’t you the one who thinks I could get taken out by a light breeze? What makes you think I can raid a Walmart?” 

Mikasa, entirely serious, thinks about that for a moment. “Well. You’re the size of a twelve year-old, so you can probably slip through the crowd and people would just think you’re a lost child.” 

“You really are the worst.” Mikasa smirks in response, and Annie has just now decided to begin an extreme muscle building regimen for completely unrelated reasons. 

Half a minute before the doors are set to open, they get out of the car and perch themselves at the head, ready to make a break for it. Mikasa starts running the second she sees an overworked employee pulling out a set of keys from the other side of the glass double doors. Annie has no chance of keeping up, instead maintaining a steady jog as she watches Mikasa delve straight into the mob of shoppers. 

As much as she hates to admit it, Mikasa is not wrong: Annie, who’s barely five feet tall, has no issue squeezing past hordes of raging giants who think she’s a preteen. 

She finds Mikasa in the cookware department with a new, fancy slow cooker box under one arm. “Took you long enough.” 

“Well, we can’t _ all _ be gladiators.” Finally, a snarky comment Mikasa seems to be pleased with. Annie’s smile reaches her eyes, even when she rolls them. 

“I actually did a study abroad in Italy my sophomore year, you know.” Mikasa leads the way to the next aisle, shouldering past people who look too tired to stand, but too wired to do anything else. Caffeine at its finest. Annie is not entirely surprised. Mikasa has always had an air of _ I’ve spent copious amounts of time in Europe _ about her that doesn’t stem from nothing. Plus, if Annie recalls correctly, Mikasa is also the proud owner of a green, white, and red sweatshirt with _ Veni Vidi Vici _written in bold, annoying letters on both front and back. “I majored in archeology and actually studied gladiators.” 

_ Archeology. _ Now that’s not _ at all _ what Annie had expected. But then again, Mikasa has a real knack for putting holes in the ground, so she'd probably make a damn fine archeologist. “Did you go, and see, and conquer? Or is that just a Caesar thing?” 

They scrutinize cast iron skillets, testing the weights. Nine inches, or ten and a half - the decision’s a tough one. “Unfortunately it’s just a Caesar thing. But if I were maybe an inch or two taller and had a cool catchphrase, that country would be mine.” 

“…I honestly can’t tell if you’re a tyrant, or not.” 

The nine-inch skillet wins out. “Good.” Mikasa turns and steps around Annie, brushing shoulders along the way. “Let’s keep it that way, Brutus.” And then she winks.

It takes a moment for Annie to process that motion. But when it finally clicks, all the bells clang like heavy metal in her head.

Was that an _ actual _ wink, or is Annie just seeing things? Is Annie going crazy?

Did? Mikasa? Seriously? Just? Wink? At? Her? 

… 

She did. 

And now she has the audacity to act as though she _ didn’t _just set Annie’s whole damn face on fire. As it is, Annie can’t demand an explanation for that right now. Especially not in a devil-spawning Walmart. 

Annie follows Mikasa as they weave through the aisles, staring at the spot on the taller woman’s back where all her muscles seem to connect to her neck. Mikasa’s broad shoulders are bathed in the store’s fluorescent lighting, a sunrise across the horizon of her outline. If she had any artistic abilities, Annie would paint this image. But she doesn’t, so she’ll just have to settle on having a reliable memory. 

The workout section is notably less populated in comparison to the rest of the store, but that by no means equates to having any more space to move around. Quite the opposite. Everyone in the aisle is clearly a frequent gym goer, which designates Annie to the position of needle in a haystack. Or strand of hay in a stack of needles. Not that anyone notices her either way - the aisle, comprised of mostly men, parts like the Red Sea when Mikasa breezes through, and it has nothing to do with the cinnamon still on her face (which is sadly falling off little by little). In fact, none of them look up to notice that she even _ has _a face. 

Mikasa, in turn, remains completely unimpressed. Same shit, different day. 

It’s strange, walking alongside someone who garners this much attention without so much as batting an eye. Hitch also used to attract a lot of attention whenever they went out, but that was different - Hitch sought it out, a firecracker of energy mixed with a bubbly personality, always wanting to meet new people, make new friends.

Mikasa is none of that, yet she commands a room like she owns everything and everyone in it. A human magnet, a positive charge in a world full of negatives. A world full of Annies.

Annie decides that now is not the time to unpack that completely left-fielded comparison. She’s already weirded out from being at a department store in the middle of the night with the same asshole who threw a kettlebell through her ceiling, so adding fuel to the fire might tip her over the edge. 

In other news, the pull-up bars look nothing like the ones at Planet Fitness. Instead of large, clunky machines, they are, in fact, just bars that can attach to the tops of doorways. Go figure. Setting the skillet down on a shelf, Mikasa picks out a pull-up bar with a red base and black padding, then another that looks exactly the same only purple. Annie leans against a shelf and watches as Mikasa weighs each option in her hands. Dark hair frames her delicate features - an odd set of facial characteristics given that she is by no means a delicate person. Even in this ungodly morning hour, Mikasa’s eyes still have light in them, and are still able to carefully consider whatever they land on. As if everything she looks at is _ worth _ looking at. Annie can’t help but stare.

After careful consideration, Mikasa decides on the red bar and then hands it to Annie. “You can carry this.” 

“Sure, sure. OR. We could get a cart,” which, admittedly, is the same as saying, _ let’s wrestle through a jungle of hysteric soccer parents and broke college students alike! _ “…Okay, and by that, I mean, _ you _ can get a cart. For the sake of time.”

True to hypothesis, Mikasa is able to obtain the shopping cart through the hurried crowds in under five minutes, and Annie internally judges herself for being the slightest bit impressed. Clearly, she has low standards.

Because they are both dumbasses, they have to round back to the cookware aisles. _ Someone _ forgot that she needs a new set of plates. The old ones are, to use exact words, _ not exciting enough. _ Because eating meals should be _ exciting _ and _ fun _. 

Annie grabs the first set of dull plates she sees - light gray with zero intricacies - and adds them to Mikasa’s stuff. They are almost immediately reshelved. Annie sets her sights on a plain white set that looks like it takes inspiration from printer paper, the last in stock, but Mikasa sees it first and preemptively sets it on the top shelf where Annie can’t reach. “So,” Annie starts. “Where did you live before you moved here? And by ‘here,’ I mean our building, but feel free to move into Walmart and talk about that instead.” 

That earns her a grin. “I’ll consider it. And I was in Quincy.” Mikasa grabs a set of dark red plates with floral patterns around the edge and shrugs. “Lived really close to the school I work for.” 

“And now you have a forty minute commute, minimum. If you don’t mind my asking, why did you leave?” 

With an alarming degree of internal decay, Mikasa turns to Annie and flatly responds with, “Eren, my old roommate, started dating a guy who looks like a horse. And then he just… _ moved him in _ within the span of a weekend.” She shrugs again with a forced nonchalance, but it’s obvious she still cares. “I left before I could commit a felony.”

“How noble of you,” Annie says, allowing for a pause. “Was it really that bad?” 

“Horse-Boy ate all my mozzarella cheese and replaced it with American.” 

Ouch. If there’s one thing Annie hates, it’s people taking her food. And people who eat American cheese. Hence why she lives alone. “Dude, I’m pretty sure people get sent straight to hell for shit like that.” 

Mikasa throws out her arms as if to say, _ right? RIGHT? _ And she is, in fact, right. “Thank you! Eren got all pissy when I brought it up. ‘It’s just cheese, Mikasa, get over it,’” she deepens her voice and mimics his words with air quotes to boot. “But it wasn’t just the cheese, you know? That’s just what threw me over the edge. It was a bunch of things - Jean’s stuff took up too much space in the cabinets, he ate all my leftovers, and he would hog the bathroom for _ hours. _ Plus, he was _ always _ running laundry, Eren _ always _ took his side during arguments, their bedroom _ always _ sounded like a torture chamber, and I _ always _felt like the third wheel in my own apartment. After four months I just couldn’t take it anymore.” 

Not for the first time tonight, Annie lets out a low whistle. “Damn, that sucks. You’re a far greater person than me, I probably would have taken the felony charge.” 

“It was a tough decision.”

“Well, in the end,” Annie starts, letting the words tumble out of her like falling dominoes before she even thinks to catch them. “I’m glad things worked out the way they did.” 

Bless Mikasa’s soul for not raising an eyebrow at the comment. Instead, she just nods and says, “Me too.” 

~

Because Mikasa decided to buy the whole damn store, she offers to add Annie’s slow cooker to her transaction for the sake of time, to which she agrees. Annie now owes Mikasa thirty dollars, which she has decided to pay off entirely with pennies over the span of a few weeks. Once they’re done loading the car, it becomes clear that neither of them want to go home just yet, so Mikasa demands that they go to the “dwelling place of her eternal soul” next, should Annie feel up to it. 

That is to say, Mikasa wants to go to IKEA. 

Because, of course, her eternal soul resides in _ IKEA. _ How absurd of Annie to think otherwise. 

Annie, lost in a vast and bottomless pit of confusion that her own soul will likely reside in one day, responds with, “I mean, when you put it that way, I can’t really say no, now can I?” For the record, she can’t. 

And this is how they end up browsing through an entire section of horrifyingly ugly dining tables in a store that Mikasa’s soul may or may not haunt postmortem. Annie had never been to IKEA before now, so she’s more than a little skeptical of all the room displays that look like the sets of daytime soap operas. 

“Isn’t this where they film _ The Young and the Restless? _” 

“Annie, Annie, Annie. My dad watches that show, and he is neither young nor restless. What does this say about you?” 

Well, damn. 

The store itself is just as crowded as Walmart, but, unsurprisingly, this gem of a section is not. Mikasa says she wants to replace the dining table she broke in the ceiling incident. As any decent person would do, she says. Like a good neighbor, she says. All for the greater good, she says. 

Full. Of. Shit. 

Annie, being the pessimistic telemarketer that she is, has a bad feeling about this and spends a great deal of time trying to direct Mikasa towards the _ normal _dining tables across the aisle. She even points out that the simple ones are significantly cheaper. Fruitless efforts, all of them. 

“So,” Annie starts, scrunching her eyebrows together. “This is the resting place of your soul, eh?” 

“Dwelling place,” Mikasa corrects, deadpan. “No one could feasibly rest here.” 

Annie’s eyes roll without her brain’s approval because the judgement is _ that _ strong. “Right. Of course. My sincerest apologies.” 

“You are forgiven,” she says before adding a nonchalant “heathen” under her breath for good measure. 

They pass a table that is, where functionality is concerned, a large chess board. Matching mugs in the shapes of every chess piece included. Very pricey. They give it an appreciative nod and pass it by. According to Mikasa, it’s not ugly enough. Annie will do just about anything to change the subject. “So why IKEA, dare I ask?” 

“I like assembling furniture myself, it makes my stuff feel like it’s really _ mine. _ Plus, I have a deep respect for any establishment with delicious meatballs.” That was quick. 

Another eye roll, another wave of exhaustion coursing through her. “Did you pick up that philosophy on your study abroad?” 

Mikasa smiles, soft and annoyingly attractive. “_ Sì, bella. _” Annie knows exactly what that means, but raises an eyebrow as if she doesn’t. Flirting has never been her forte, nor has accepting compliments of any kind. Best to play dumb. 

It takes all of five minutes for Mikasa to stop dead in her tracks. “This. This is the one.” 

Annie doesn’t even need a fraction of a second to veto this decision. Nope. Nope nope nope nope nope. 

“You really don’t have to do this,” Annie says, feeling her veins throb in her forehead. A stranger passing by might assume that Mikasa’s excitement is pure. Innocent. Let it be known that that person would be a blind fool. Because Mikasa is currently trying to sell Annie on a bright yellow table with a hideous _neon green_ _cactus_ wearing a _fedora _shooting out of its center. 

“Oh, but I really do.” 

“No.” 

“Why.” Not technically a question, so Annie shouldn’t respond. But who is she kidding? When has she ever passed up the opportunity to say something stupid? 

_ Because I still have a single shred of dignity left to my name _is what Annie should say. Instead, she goes with, “Because I’m the only prickly thing allowed in my apartment. It’d be a fire hazard otherwise.” 

Mikasa lets out a breath that’s halfway between a laugh and a sigh. “I think you could do with some company.” 

“And you think a plastic cactus straight out of _ The Blues Brothers _ is the solution to that problem?” 

The answer to that is yes, she clearly does. So much so that Mikasa pulls her phone out of her back pocket, takes a photo of the item number, and drags them both through the anarchic _ hellhole _ that amounts from the IKEA displays until they reach the warehouse to pay and make arrangements for shipment. As far as Annie’s concerned, Mikasa can _ buy _ whatever she wants. No way that cursed table will make its way _ inside _her apartment. 

Annie tells Mikasa three separate times that this is a stupid idea. Once after the employee excuses himself to retrieve paperwork for their delivery options, another time just before Mikasa swipes her credit card, and again when they are back in the station wagon and peeling out of the parking garage.

“It’s a long-term investment,” Mikasa says, something like pride sparking in her eyes. 

“I don’t think you understand how investments work.” 

A cocked eyebrow and a sideways glance. “The mental image of you eating all your meals at the ugliest table I’ve ever seen is the greatest return I could ask for.” 

“Never pursue a career in business.” 

“Noted.”

At a red light, Annie leans her head on the cool glass of the driver’s side window. Snow began to fall while they were in the store and now a crystal veil is growing in the top corners of the windshield. Icy spider webs catching snowflakes as they fall. The silence between them is a thick blanket, warm and comfortable and easy to get lost in, the only sound being the instrumental holiday music trickling out from the radio. A soft piano cover of “Auld Lang Syne” that is only ever heard by insomniacs trying desperately to lull themselves to sleep before the night is up. 

“So,” Mikasa says just as the light turns green and they begin moving again. Her fingers are fidgeting with the hems of her sleeves. “The telescope finally came in.” 

“Oh?”

“Mhmm. Couple of days ago. It’s been taking up space in my living room.” The underbelly of that statement being _ I’m holding you to our deal, _ which is in turn a roundabout way of saying _ come over, damn it. _

Annie’s fingers tap on the steering wheel as if on beat with a particularly catchy song. “I suppose my time to shine has come.” 

“Lucky you.” 

The horizon is black ink beneath the snowfall. Annie checks the clock - half past four? Damn, they've been out for a while - and turns onto Mass Ave from the residential side streets she's so fond of traveling through. Some houses already have their Christmas lights up, with plastic Santas the size of garden sheds waving to passersby from their lawns. The main street is bright, even at this time, and they’ve already passed a handful of cars going in the opposite direction towards Boston. Home's not too far from here. 

Annie chews on her bottom lip. The question of whether or not she should invite Mikasa over for breakfast settles in her mind. On the one hand, they’ve already spent the entire night together, so sharing a meal isn’t that weird. On the other, Mikasa would be inside her apartment. Scrutinizing her things. Potentially searching for the spare keys when she thinks Annie isn’t looking. 

There isn’t enough time to go back and forth with the thought. They’re about to pass by the convenience store. 

“So,” Annie starts, and she is all too aware of the awkward pitch in her tone. “I have some pumpkin pie leftover. If you’re hungry, that is.”

“I could go for some pie. Let me guess - Market Basket? Stop and Shop? Whole Foods? Trader Joe’s?”

“It’s not much of a guess if you say all of them. And, for the record, none of the above. I made it myself.” 

“_ Oh, _ ” Mikasa says, drawing out the syllable. “Now I _ have _to have it. They say you can judge a person’s character by how they make their pies, you know.”

For sure, no one says that. “And what about people who don’t make pies?” 

“They’re hiding something.” As one does. 

When Annie and Mikasa step into the apartment, the first thing Mikasa does is evaluate where she’s going to set up the new dining table once it’s delivered. 

“I think it’d look really good right here.” Directly in front of the window facing the house next door. The lawyer’s house, to be precise. “I think Levi will feel refreshed seeing a cactus through his window every morning.” 

“You really just want the both of us to get sued, don't you?"

She shrugs with the reckless abandon of someone who isn't afraid of the law or the grumpy men who navigate it. "He's my cousin. If he tries anything, my Uncle Kenny will hear about it." 

Ah, right. Hange mentioned that they were related once, not that it’s at all surprising. Bad attitudes must run in their family. At least they’re both good looking enough to compensate. “Uncle Kenny sounds terrifying.”

“You have no idea.” 

Annie puts on the electric kettle for tea and takes the pie out of the fridge, cutting out two even pieces and transferring them onto paper plates. Mikasa leans against the counter and insists on microwaving her slice. 

“It’s _ pumpkin _ pie, you eat it cold.” Annie does not have time for these games. 

Mikasa, apparently, has all the time in the world. “This is probably how your heart iced over, if we’re being realistic.” 

“What type of monster eats warm pumpkin pie?” 

“The warmer the pie, the warmer the soul. See? I told you. People reveal their true selves through pie.” 

This is by no means pleasing, but Annie can’t stop herself from smiling anyway. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Weirdo.” 

Mikasa pushes herself off the counter. “Now, now. This weirdo has to use the restroom. Might as well snoop through your stuff while I’m at it.” 

“Whatever you do, don’t look under the loose tile by the sink. That’s where I keep all the cocaine.” 

“Pfft. At long last, I can get your ass locked up. I’ll finally be able to throw my kettlebells wherever I please.”

Mikasa strides across the room and disappears behind the bathroom door, just to the left of her bedroom. Outside, the sky is a pale blue and only getting brighter. Annie looks up at the newly plastered ceiling with a fondness that doesn’t completely surprise her anymore. She once thought of that hole as nothing more than a burden to cover up. Now she’s not so sure if the events surrounding it were all that bad. 

A soft knock at the front door. Probably Armin coming to get his car keys back. “It’s open,” Annie calls out. “Come in.” 

There’s a brief moment of silence, one where time seemingly stands still. Neither Annie nor the door moves an inch. Maybe she’s just hearing things, or maybe Armin fell asleep standing up. Both are equally plausible. Just as she’s halfway through the kitchen to see to the matter herself, the door creaks open. Hesitant. A deer sneaking up on a lion. 

The lush, light brown head of hair that ducks in through the threshold does not belong to Armin. “Annie?” 

It takes her a moment. But then it all comes crashing down. “Hitch?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this would have been updated sooner (and by sooner, i mean two days ago), but my beta did not think that my knowledge of IKEA was nearly extensive enough and decided that it was absolutely necessary to do some on-site research. with that being said, shout out to NightingalesCalling for editing this, waking me up before noon, and dragging my ass all the way to IKEA for "the authenticity." you're a Real One.  
(except when you put pumpkin pie in the microwave. then you're a straight up monster.)


End file.
